


How Many Simons in the Universe

by notsomagicath



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Baz is usually Even, Fluff and Angst, I thought it was fitting (with my url and all) that my first ao3 fic was for Carry On, M/M, Parallel Universes, Simon is usually Isak, SnowBaz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 15:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsomagicath/pseuds/notsomagicath
Summary: "I'm sure that in a parallel universe, there's a Simon and Baz who are lying in the exact same way and the exact same place."Inspired by Skam and its remakes (especially Skam France and Druck)





	1. I Like People Who Surprise Me

The dorm wall cracks as the brass doorknob swings into the brick. 

“For fuck’s sake, Snow, are you trying to deafen me?” Baz snaps from his bed, sliding a bright blue bookmark between the pages of his book before lowering it onto his thighs and closing it with a dull thud. 

Simon doesn’t respond, slamming the door shut out of spite.

“Did the chosen one have a bad day?”

“Piss off, Baz,” he responds through gritted teeth, pulling textbooks and stray papers out of his bag and spreading them distractedly over his bedsheets. 

Baz takes the opportunity to assess Simon’s condition. His bronze curls are a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it. (Merlin, what he wouldn’t give to be the one to place them in such disarray). His face is flushed, and the magickal energy in the room is pulled taut. As the heat builds, Simon slides the green blazer from his shoulders, and it joins the mass of items on the bed, followed shortly after by his red jumper. 

“Snow.”

“I SAID PISS OFF.”

“Oh, I heard you, but if you’re about to go off, I’d prefer if you do it outside. I doubt the Anathema would take too well to setting your roommate ablaze.”

Simon goes rigid, as if the danger hadn’t even occurred to him, and immediately sprints for the bathroom. The ensuing silence is only broken by the sound of a running faucet, and, after a minute or so, Simon emerges, curls flattened and dripping water, his collar soaked through. Unfortunately, the cold water only serves to halt his frenzied movements, and the magickal pressure in the room remains high. 

Baz glances at the nightstand to his left and briefly wonders if he should have his wand ready to protect himself. After a beat, he cautions a question, knowing full well what the result would be. 

“Is this about Wellbelove again?”

Without warning, Simon’s magic explodes out of him, but whether it’s out of his subconscious desire to appease the Anathema or his conscious decision, the flare bursts upward in a column of fire. By the time Simon burns himself out, there is a clean scorch mark on the ceiling, with nothing else but a rise in the room’s temperature to show for it. 

As the shock wears off, Baz presses himself up on his elbows from where he’d thrown himself flat on his back as an instinctive measure to protect himself from the blast. His eyes take Simon up and down, as if checking for any residual sparks, and, finding none, he pushes himself back to sit against the headboard. He raises an eyebrow expectantly at Simon. 

“Baz, I-” an apology forms in his head, but the expression of regret to his arch-nemesis is unfamiliar enough that the words catch in his throat. 

Baz lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his head falls back against the headboard. His eyes flutter closed, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. 

The word  _ beautiful _ echoes in Simon’s head, an involuntary response that sings through his blood and holds so firmly to his thoughts that he wonders if it’s always been there. 

“Baz,” he begins again, “I-”

“Shhh”

“I just-”

“Hush.”

“I worry-”

“Don’t.”

“But-”

“Simon.”

“Baz?”

“Here.”

Baz opens his eyes and takes his wand from where it had rolled off the table, and points it at the blackened spot on the ceiling.

“ **_Clean as a whistle._ ** ” he casts, and continues in a matter-of-fact tone, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I still feel bad, alright?” Simon says exasperatedly, “I’m sorry. I really am. Anathema or not.” 

Baz blinks at him for a moment before the beginnings of a smirk spread across his face. 

“You never cease to surprise me, Snow,” he drawls, the remnants of his arrogant bearing returning at last. 

“You called me Simon.”

Baz ignores him, and begins twirling his wand in his fingers, hesitating for a moment. Finally, his eyes meet Simon’s with an unreadable intensity. 

“I like people who surprise me.” 

  
  



	2. Kiss Me on the Mouth and Set Me Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Lyrics are from BITE by Troye Sivan

“Come on, Simon, we’re going to be late!” Agatha says, weaving her fingers through his and pulling him along.

“I doubt Penny and Micah are going to waste any time waiting for us,” Simon responds breathlessly, struggling to keep up with her, in spite of the fact that Agatha is wearing heels.

Agatha only laughs and picks up the pace, the two of them breaking into a run across the courtyard, the click of Agatha’s shoes falling off-rhythm with his frantic heart rate.

At last, they reach the dining hall, and they pause in front of the doors. Agatha twirls under his arm on the top step, her hair flying like a halo and a cloud of gold and the skirt of her white dress floating like a cloud. _She’s pretty_ , Simon thinks, but the thought is static, and reads like a note taken in class. He knows it’s a fact, but whether or not he believes it’s true is irrelevant. Agatha stops spinning and turns to Simon, batting her eyelashes. There’s an awkward pause, and after a few seconds, she dips her chin slightly, as if to say _go on_.

“You- you look lovely, Agatha,” he stutters, and she rewards him with a peck on the cheek. With that, she pulls her hand from Simon’s and uses both arms to throw open the double doors.

The swing of the doors floods the empty courtyard with noise and neon lights, and Trixie darts to the doorway to close them, scolding Agatha for almost blowing their cover. Agatha shoots back that maybe, Trixie and her girlfriend could have picked a more covert location for their party, and the half-pixie storms off in the direction of the drinks table.

Simon remains frozen in the entry, as if someone cast a **_Stand your ground_ ** on him, and, for all he knows, Baz could have done it. However, a quick scan of the room presents none of the gray eyes, dark hair, and arrogant sneer he’s come to know, only Dev and Niall pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, stealing glances on a dining hall bench. Simon stares glassy-eyed at the tiny space between them where Baz should be until Penny runs up to him with Micah in tow.

“Simon!” she calls brightly, barely heard over the volume over the crowd, “I was wondering when you would show up!” turning briefly to her left, she waves distractedly, “Hi Agatha.”

Agatha waves back with a tight-lipped smile before muttering something about getting drinks and disappearing into the crowd.

“Where’s Baz?” Simon asks, not taking his eyes off the double doors.

“For fucks sake, Simon, you’re obsessed. Get plotting out of your head for just one night, and then you can worry all you want.”

“I’m not-“

“Nope. End of conversation. We’re going to dance.”

With that, Penny links arms, one with Simon and one with Micah, before tugging them into the center of the dance floor. She twirls with them under the lights, and her energy is contagious. Soon enough, Micah is performing a full-on ballroom dance with Penny, albeit awkwardly, but they’re both laughing so hard it doesn’t really matter. When Agatha returns, Simon takes the drink she offers and swallows it all in one gulp. With the alcohol in his system and encouragement from his date, he and Agatha jump around like idiots, bumping into each other every other step, screaming lyrics to every song with the crowd.

All of a sudden, the doors fling open and silence falls like a wet blanket over the students, panicked whispers filling the air. Luckily for them, it’s only Baz announcing his arrival with an unnecessarily grandiose **_Open Sesame_ ** . Once again, Trixie bolts for the entrance, though, this time, she’s too intimidated (for good reason) to tell Baz off, settling for a disapproving _hm_ before casting a cautious **_Nothing to see here_ ** on the doorway. After an extra beat of silence, the party returns to full swing accordingly.

To Simon’s shock, Baz approaches his group before collecting his bodyguards.

“Snow, Wellbelove, Bunce,” he pauses when his gaze lands on Micah, “... American.”

“Hello, Basil,” acknowledges Penny before excusing herself with a nod, pulling her boyfriend with her farther into the ever-growing crowd.

“Baz,” Agatha and Simon say in unison, though his greeting lacks the eyelash batting that hers does.

“My, Wellbelove,” flirts Baz, pointedly ignoring the blue eyes and bronze curls that threaten to overtake his vision, “you look stunning as always.”

_Charming,_ Simon thinks to himself, with surprising bitterness. _Why doesn’t Baz ever put in this kind of wit and energy in anything involving Simon?_ Maybe he should be more concerned that his arch-nemesis is complimenting his girlfriend rather than disappointed that such effort isn’t aimed at him, but who is he to know what a chosen one should or shouldn’t do?

Before he can say something remarkably clever, he looks up to find that Baz has disappeared, leaving nothing but a blushing Agatha in his wake. The blonde squeaks and actively tries to suppress the color in her face when Simon looks over at her, but, if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t particularly care if talking to Baz made her blush.

Abruptly, the music changes, and a sultry air falls over the dance floor.

_Kiss me on the mouth and set me free, sing me like a choir._

Every person’s movements slow to match the lyrics, and, from his perch on a table, Baz surveys the unruly mass of people with a self-satisfied smirk. His steel gaze trails from person to person, pausing briefly on Agatha and her white dress, glowing like a star under the black lights.

_I can be the subject of your dreams, your sickening desire._

A wave of jealousy washes over Simon, and, without thinking, he reaches over, pulls Agatha close, and kisses her full on the mouth.

_Don’t you want to see a man up close, a phoenix in the fire?_

She goes willingly, pressing herself flush against him, and Simon turns them blindly, eyes squeezed shut, ensuring that Agatha’s back was to Baz.

Out of nowhere, the desire to see the gray-eyed boy’s reaction overwhelms him, and his eyes snap open, and, reflexively begin to search.

Finally, blue finds gray, and Simon and Baz lock eyes.

_So kiss me on the mouth and set me free, but please don’t bite._

Baz licks his lips and a slow, almost conspiratorial smirk tugs on the left corner of his mouth. In response, Simon deepens the kiss, tightening his hold on Agatha’s waist. Gray eyes never leave his, and Baz takes his bottom lip between his teeth.

Simon immediately closes his eyes again, half out of shame of being caught, and half to dull the pounding of his heartbeat, sliding a hand to Agatha’s lower back and another to hold the back of her neck.

However, curiosity gets the best of him, and he sneaks another glance at Baz. _Holy fuck, he’s still staring._

The whole room seems to sway to the music and Simon’s vision fills with the flashes of glow-in-the-dark face paint, glow sticks, and the dimmed strobe light, and how they cast shadows on the angles of Baz’s face. _Every beat of the song brings a new spark of color, illuminating his eyes, his cheekbones, his jaw, his lips as they close around the rim of a beer bottle-_

“ **_Let there be light_ ** ” casts a voice from the threshold, so loudly that the person must have cast a **_Hear ye, hear ye_ **beforehand. Simon forcibly pulls away from Agatha, and Baz leaps off the table to find the source of the voice.

Ebb the goatherd is blocking the entrance (and only exit) to the dining hall. The noise level drops from shouts to the low hum of panic as the lights go up and the state of the room is revealed.

“You have about four minutes to leave before the Mage gets here, so you lot better clear out fast,” she says, before winking slyly at Simon and sauntering out of the room.

As soon as she leaves, the room turns to a frenzy of screeching students bemoaning their fate if the Mage were to find out about this and tell their parents. (So much for independence at boarding school.)

“ **_Your attention please!_ ** ” Keris, Trixie’s girlfriend and co-host casts, turning all heads in the direction of where she’s standing on a table, “Thank you for coming, everyone. Gather your things, and I will cover all of you with a spell until we’re all back in the dorms. Hold still.” She coughs, making sure her annunciation is perfect for the mass-spell she’s about to cast, “ **_There’s nothing to see here._ **”

As if spelled by a _**Run for your life**_ , a hundred students pour out of the dining hall doors.

  
  
  
  
  



	3. I'd Cross Every Line for Him

In the blur of jackets thrown over shoulders and teenage laughter, Simon knocks shoulders with dozens of students, and the faces start to bleed together until his vision is a tornado of flickering light bulbs, delirious smiles, and drunken missteps. 

“Snow, you bloody idiot, standing in the middle of the floor like that, you’re practically begging for the Mage to expel us.”

Baz’s hand closes around his arm, calluses from years of wandwork grazing the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. When he remains fixed to the floor, the gray-eyed boy lets out a long-suffering sigh and Baz’s hand slips, cold fingers intertwining with Simon’s, tugging sharply on his left arm. Glassy blue eyes blink and clear in seconds, prompting the pair to sprint towards the doors. 

After what seems like an eternity of sweaty bodies and alcohol-slippery floors, Simon and Baz take their first gasping breath of fresh air. The don’t have much time to enjoy it before a booming voice fills the courtyard and dining hall.

“Students, what are you doing out past curfew?” the Mage asks, with a honey-sweet tone, well aware that the crowd is collectively losing their minds from below his perch on the windowsill of his tower. 

Just as Simon opens his mouth to spout some automatic apology, Baz tightens his grip on his hand and swings him behind a decorative wall, just out of the Mage’s line of sight. With a cutting glance, Simon’s jaw clamps shut. 

“I hope you’ve had your fun,” the Mage continues, “Merlin knows I did when I was your age, but it’s time for bed. Back to your rooms.”

Slowly, the students trudge out of the courtyard, dragging their feet on the stone and mumbling under their breath. 

As the voices fade, the tension eases out of Baz’s grip, and yet, his fingers remain laced through Simon’s. When both of them glance at their hands, Baz slips his hand out, muttering something about how obscenely sweaty Simon’s hand is, and his cheeks are tinged with pink, whether from the alcohol or something else. After a beat, Simon speaks, voice slurring slightly from the alcohol.

“What was that for, Baz?”

“What was what for?”

“You know…..”

“No, I don’t, Snow. Speak coherently for once.”

“Why- I- you-” he pauses, as if reconsidering what he wants to say, “Why did you hide me from the mage?”

Baz stiffens almost imperceptibly and won’t meet Simon’s eyes, but he takes a deep breath, and lets out one of his characteristic exasperated sighs. 

“For fucks sake, Snow, it’s as if you’re begging to be expelled. You’re the bloody chosen one, and you go to a party that the professors don’t know about, and then you nearly expose yourself to the bloody Mage.”

“But isn’t that what you want?”

“What?”

“Don’t you want me to be expelled?”

“Come on, Snow. The courtyard is empty. We should leave.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Baz ignores him, and eases himself onto his feet. He brushes imaginary dirt from his pants with an air of finality. He squares his shoulders, and he turns to look back at Simon one last time, his lip twitching upwards, eyes glazed slightly. With that, Baz begins to wander out of the courtyard. 

Simon sits, lost in thought, for a minute before jumping to his feet and running after Baz. As he approaches, his footsteps notify Baz of his proximity, and the dark-haired boy turns around, barely hiding his surprise. Simon takes Baz’s hand and pulls him towards wall near the courtyard entrance, and the two of them end up pressed against the wall. 

“Turnabout is fair play,” teases Baz, swaying slightly on his feet for the first time that Simon’s seen that night. 

“Baz, are you drunk?”

“Maybe a little,” he responds, his eyes flicking down towards Simon’s lips, “What do you want, Snow?”

“Why didn’t you want me to be expelled?”

“And hear you whine for the last hours of your time at Watford? No thanks.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Simon steps closer, his hand tightening over Baz’s. He’s not entirely sure what he’s trying to do, but whatever it is, it seems to be affecting Baz. The taller boy shifts forwards, his head tilted forwards as if to hear Simon better. 

“Really..?” Baz replies, ducking lower as if to whisper in Simon’s ear. 

“....You looked good tonight.”

The admission turns the air electric, and Baz hums in response.

Gripping the ivy on the stone wall for balance, Simon pushes forwards onto his tiptoes, and even with the support, sways slightly, and Baz instinctively grabs a fistful of Simon’s shirt near his ribcage. Simon’s gaze flicks between Baz’s eyes and lips, and after a moment, they lock eyes, and Simon is jolted back to the memory of the neon lights of the room, and how the stark contrast was so different from the soft lights of the lanterns, which cast blurred shadows on Baz’s pale skin. 

The solitude of the courtyard seems to invigorate Baz, his grip on the shirt softening until he’s cradling his side, and his forehead presses to Simon’s. His skin is cold, and Simon is aware of every place Baz touches. The hand at his side and Baz’s forehead burn with a cold fire as Simon’s head tilts, lips falling open as an unspoken invitation.  _ Mouth breather.  _ Baz doesn’t hesitate and the ghost of a smile slips on until Simon’s eyes slide shut, long eyelashes brushing against Baz’s cheekbones. The brunette’s chin inches forwards, and Baz’s eyes flutter closed. Their lips brush, and the heat of Simon’s breath spreads through Baz like wildfire. There’s too many lines crossed, and Baz is burning bright.  _ I’d cross every line for him.  _ His lips part, and just as he moves to take Simon’s bottom lip between his, the cry of a bird shatters the moment. 

“Simon, where are you??” Agatha’s voice cuts through the silence, her voice amplified through the  **_A little bird told me_ ** , her tone caught between disapproving and a playful, “I swear, if you don’t come back soon, I’m going to have to break up with you…” the message ends with her laughter, as if the idea of breaking up was a joke. 

“ **_A little bird told me._ ** ” Simon casts, both embarrassed about and relishing in how  _ affected _ he sounds, “It’ll take me awhile to get back. I guess we’re broken up,” the summoned bird flies away with a squawk towards the girls towers. 

“Simon,” Baz chokes, “what-”

“I was planning on doing it anyway,” Simon murmurs.

“But you-”

“We should get back. I need to finish something. I’ll walk back first, I guess.”

If Baz has any comment on staggering their exit, he doesn’t say it.

  
  



	4. I'll Spell You Fifty Feet Backwards

It’s probably all part of a plot.  _ “I like people who surprise me.” The eye contact at the party. The almost-kiss in the courtyard.  _ And four minutes and fifty seconds ago, Baz just swept out of the dining hall doors. 

“Where’s Baz?” Simon approaches Dev and Niall, ignoring the strange looks the surrounding tables send his way. The pair exchange sceptical glances and after a moment, turn back to Simon.

“He said something about going downstairs,” Niall shrugs, gesturing vaguely towards the doors. 

“But we’re on the ground floor….” protests Simon, “Where is he really?”

“Baz never makes any sense. Why would we? Just go with it, I guess,” says Dev, with a dismissive wave. 

Simon steps forward as if to press for a better answer, but the two of them resolutely shift their seated positions to rest Dev’s legs over Niall’s, with Niall wrapping an arm around Dev’s waist and pressing his forehead to his cheek, making it clear, even to Simon, that he’s not wanted. Blushing a fire-engine red, Simon stumbles out of the dining hall. 

Once Simon’s reached the hallway, he wishes he’d just sat back down at his table and looked away, but now that he’s already out, how strange would it look to walk back past them? Merlin forbid someone in the hall thinks he’s some kind of pervert. No, it would be better if he just kept walking. He’d pretty much finished his dinner anyway. 

He wanders down the hallway, aimlessly looking for some kind of entertainment. Finally, his gaze catches on an open door, glowing faintly from the dim lighting of torches.  _ There’s no tower there, or any room above it. Where does it go? _

Slowly, he walks towards the entrance, pushing open the door, the silence of the hinges more unnerving than a cliche creak would be. To his surprise, he nearly trips over a step, the first of the downward spiraling staircase. He lifts his foot as if to look for a footprint in the dust, but he finds there is none, as if the stairs have been well-maintained.  _ I don’t think anyone else knows these are here. Who’s been taking care of them? Maybe the Mage? _

He can practically hear Penny writing a paper on all the reasons the Mage wouldn’t use something like this. Thesis statement, three topical categories, a conclusion relating the thesis to his present state. Honestly, the girl would do well as a lawyer for the Normals. 

Before he even finishes the thought, he’s at the bottom of the stairs. He takes a few steps away from the steps, squinting as his eyes adjust to the darkness. The light of the staircase drifts down into the dark room, but doesn’t get far, and just barely maintains a dim light in the entire room, still too dark for Simon to see it all. . From what he can tell, there are monuments arranged around the room, one to Natasha Grimm-Pitch just to the right of the stairs.  _ Where is he? Why didn’t he know about this place before?  _

“What are you doing here, Snow?” a voice that is unmistakably Baz’s says from behind him, annoyance soaked through his every word.

Simon jumps slightly, and whirls around to face him. 

“What- you- I was-“ he takes a deep breath, “Where are we?”

“The catacombs, genius. It’s a place I go when I want to be  _ alone. _ ”

The emphasis on the last word gets the message through to Simon.  _ He’s not supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to follow. For some reason, following Baz into the darkness isn’t something that scares him. He likes him like this. Under his thumb. Where he can’t make trouble. And yet, if he isn’t wanted he will go.  _

“I’m sorry, Baz, I-“

“Look, Snow, if you already made it down here I might as well give you the grand tour.”

Simon’s taken aback by the suggestion and only nods, pointedly ignoring the soft light of the staircase that illuminates every sharp edge and soft curve of Baz’s face 

Baz’s dark hair makes him near impossible to see from behind, especially as he leads Simon farther and farther away from the glow of the entrance. As they go, Baz somehow reads all the worn plaques on every statue, each one of one of Watford’s past headmasters and headmistresses, offhandedly mentioning some point of interest before moving on to the next one. At last, they finish their tour back at the monument to Baz’s mother. 

“She was the best headmistress the school’s ever seen, you know,” Baz says reverently, as if speaking about a goddess, “She was so good at what she did, and sacrificed everything to keep the school safe. I wish she-“ 

Baz chokes on his words for a moment, as if he’s about to cry. Simon places a cautious hand on his shoulder, and Baz goes still, as if just remembering he’s still there. 

“Never mind,” he continues, his voice carrying a strange brightness that Simon can’t place, “Anyways, there’s better things to do down here than stare at old crumbling statues.” 

With that, Baz brushes his fingers over Simon’s jawline to turn his face towards his, and takes off into the room, a peal of laughter spilling from his lips. Simon immediately sprints after him, his feet echoing on the stone floors. For a moment, their laughter mingles in the dark, but soon, Simon loses sight of Baz in the barely visible corners of the room. 

Eventually, Simon is left to turn in circles wherever he is, eyes struggling to spot Baz in the blurry dim lighting. 

“Baz?” he calls, “BAZ?”

“ **_Let there be light_ ** ” a voice casts from behind him, brightening the room enough for Simon to nearly hit Baz in the face with the force of his arm as Baz startles him. 

“Scared?” Baz teases, the same glint Simon’s seen every day since they became roommates flickering in his eyes. But something’s not the same. The same glint is burning with another fire. 

“No,” Simon says unconvincingly, “No,” he repeats, this time with more confidence, “Not scared.”

“Not scared?”

“Not scared.”

Baz’s smirk grows bigger, and he whispers “ **_Nonsense_ ** ” pulling the magic from his earlier spell away and leaving Simon in the dark. His laugh sounds with his footsteps as he retreats again. 

“Ok, Baz, very funny. Where are you?”

No response.

“Baz? I swear, if you're trying to scare me this time, I’ll spell you fifty feet backwards.”

A murmured spell is cast directly in front of him and once again the room is filled with light, with Baz in the spotlight, expression overflowing with mirth. 

“Is it working, Snow?”

Simon shakes his head vehemently. 

“No. Not scared.”

With a near evil-sounding laugh, the lights go out again. 

“Ok Baz, how long are you going to do this?”

Once again, no response.

“Very funny, you can come back now.” 

Silence.

“Baz?”

_ Oh Merlin, we’re in the catacombs. With dead people. What if something happened? _

“BAZ?”

_ Where is he? _

_ “ _ Alright, maybe a little scared!” 

With that admission, the room is illuminated again, this time with Baz standing in line with his left shoulder. Simon turns to look at him reproachfully, and finds that they’re a lot closer than he’d anticipated, their chests mere inches apart. Baz shifts closer, Simon’s lips fall open, and the edge of Baz’s lips twist upwards into a smile.  _ He’s so close. They’re breathing the same air. He-  _

Simon watches as Baz’s lips form the words to the spell and the room goes dark, and Simon is once again left to stare into the dark. 

This time, Simon easily finds him, bathed in the light of the staircase. The light is behind him, so his features are in the dark, but he beckons Simon closer.  _ Oh, the irony of a shadow calling him towards the light.  _

“You know, the catacombs are level with the lake. We’re so far underground, that if we weren’t in here, for all I know we’d be underwater. So let’s play a game, Snow. Who can hold their breath the longest?”

Baz takes a couple steps to lean against the lowest part of the railing, pressing his shoulder lazily to the wall above it. It’s almost as if he doesn’t expect Simon to actually take him up on the offer. 

“Fine.”

Baz’s eyes widen. So Simon was right about Baz’s expectations. He recovers quickly, and any surprise on his face is wiped away by a competitive smirk as he counts down. 

“Ok. 3… 2… 1…”

They take in a gasp of air in unison, and watch each other, eyebrows raised, waiting for the other person to crack. 

Baz’s eyebrow raises impossibly higher when Simon strides towards him. 

And higher still when Simon leans forward and kisses him full on the mouth. 

He steps away maybe a second later, just in time to catch Baz’s reaction. 

Baz stutters out a breath in shock, and, though it’s hard to tell, there’s a slight flush to his normally pale face. He stares at Simon as if he’s never seen him before, and opens his mouth a few times as if to say something, but all that comes out is,

“Rematch?”

“Why?” Simon teases, “I won.”

“By cheating.”

“How did I cheat?”

“You-“ Baz sighs exasperatedly, the remnants of his cocky attitude coming back to him, “Let’s just do a rematch.”

“Alright,” Simon shrugs, “Just because you’re being a sore loser. 3… 2… 1…”

The two of them inhale sharply, but Baz watches Simon’s lips as he takes the breath, as if keeping his eyes on them will allow him to know Simon’s next move. But this time, as if pushed by some unseen hand, takes that last step towards Simon, takes his face in his hands, and takes his bottom lip between his, staying a few seconds longer than Simon had before pulling away, leaving their foreheads pressed together. This time, Simon is the one to gasp for breath first. 

“I win,” Baz breathes, eyes still closed, as if opening his eyes would wake him from a dream. 

“So we’re tied,” Simon whispers, and Baz can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Mhmmmm.”

After too long but still not long enough, Baz opens his eyes, and finds Simon’s piercing blue eyes studying him with an intensity he’d never imagined would ever be mirrored back at him, a look that makes Baz’s hands burn from where they’re holding Simon’s face.

_ Don’t wake me,  _ he thinks as Simon tightens his grip on the extra fabric around Baz’s waist, pulling him down to reconnect their lips. 


	5. The Crucible Gave Me You

The light of dawn casts shadows over the wrinkled sheets of Simon’s bed, illuminating the back of his head and softening the features of Baz’s face. Simon is sleeping lightly, and Baz’s hands cradle his face, occasionally pressing a kiss to Simon’s forehead, his nose, his cheek, his jaw. 

“If you’re going to kiss me why don’t you do it properly?” Simon mumbles, turning onto his stomach and burying his face into Baz’ neck, brushing his lips over Baz’s collarbone. He throws an arm over Baz’s waist and intertwines their legs. 

Well, Baz isn’t one to refuse such an enticing offer. 

\----------

Simon hums contentedly as Baz uses his fingertips to connect the moles on Simon’s torso, the pale fabric of his shirt thrown to the floor a while ago. There’s not as many of them to go by as his face, but Baz makes do, creating invisible swirls from a space between his ribs, to the curve of his waist, to just above his hip, straying just under the waistband of his sweatpants. Eventually, Baz arm comes to rest on Simon’s chest, and his hand is content to draw circles just over his heart.  _ Crowley, how sappy could he be? Wait. Of course he’s sappy, this is Simon fucking Snow. _

After a few minutes, Baz is seized with an idea and pushes himself off of Simon, rolling quickly off of the bed, leaving Simon feeling unpleasantly cold. Simon whines slightly under his breath and reaches lazily for him, eyes fluttering half-closed as he wonders why Baz left.  _ But what if he isn’t coming back? _ The thought crosses his mind, but he thinks  _ no, he wouldn’t. Would he?  _ After what seems like an eternity, Baz returns with a tray with two mugs of what smells like coffee and a plate of sour cherry scones. 

“Breakfast is served,” teases Baz with a posh tone to his voice, placing the tray onto the bed, the weight of the food making it sink slightly into the covers. 

Simon picks up the mug, and sniffs at it, wrinkling his nose slightly when he doesn’t recognize the flavor of the coffee. 

“What kind of coffee is this?”

“Pumpkin mocha breve. It’s an invention of mine.”

“Huh,” Simon takes a cautious sip, and the drink warms him through, “This is actually really good.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Baz reaches over and gently wipes the foam off of Simon’s top lip. 

\----------

The tray is laying on the rug in the center of the room, dirty dishes placed haphazardly on and around it. Simon and Baz have moved to Baz’s bed because apparently the spilled scone crumbs do nothing for Baz’s hair, which he found out pretty quickly after trying to lie down in a spot where they were previously eating. Simon’s feet are under a stack of pillows and Baz’s are hanging over the foot of the bed, their heads lined up next to each other. Simon’s hand is bent behind Baz’s head and twisting a few strands of dark hair in his fingers. 

“Your hair is soft,” Simon mumbles, reaching for another strand. 

“Thanks?” Baz raises an eyebrow and Simon blushes as if he hadn’t realized he’d said that part aloud. 

“You’re welcome,” he stutters, continuing to twirl Baz’s hair between his fingers, only at a slightly faster pace, more of an anxious tic than anything else. After a few moments, Baz can’t resist commenting on it. 

“Crowley, Simon, are you trying to spin my hair into yarn?”

Simon immediately lets go and flushes an even darker red than Baz thought possible. He opens his mouth as if to apologize and Baz’s smile softens, reaching over to grip Simon’s fingertips lightly and return them to the back of his head. Simon grins brilliantly at him and resumes playing with Baz’s hair. To his obvious surprise and utter delight, the dark haired boy leans into the touch and closes his eyes. 

Eyes still closed, Baz feels a tentative press of lips against his, and doesn’t hesitate to place a hand on Simon’s chin to tilt his face upward for an easier angle. After a few moments, any residual nervousness melts away from Simon, and the brunette hums into the kiss.  _ Simon bloody Snow. You will be the death of me.  _

Soon enough, Baz’s hand finds its way into bronze curls and tugs slightly, eliciting a groan from the boy lying next to him. Blue eyes open and search for gray, and Baz smiles softly before leaning in again. 

\----------

Baz has no idea how long it’s been since his button-down joined Simon’s t-shirt on the floor, and frankly, he has no interest in checking the clock. He’s more occupied with chasing the warmth of Simon’s skin and learning what makes the color bloom under his touch. Crowley, if he’d known Simon is a full body blusher before, he doubts he’d have been as successful with holding himself back. But now, holding back is a frivolous idea, too preposterous to entertain for even a minute. 

Pressed against the headboard of his bed, Baz tugs Simon’s head back by a light grip in his hair to press his lips to the golden skin in the hollow of his throat, and the gesture causes Simon to press him farther into the carved wood, which Baz had assumed wasn’t as uncomfortable to lean on as he’d now figured out. But there’s absolutely no way in hell he’s moving. Not when there’s much better things to be done. 

After a blissfully hazy amount of time, their energy slows to a languid pace, with Baz still propped up against the headboard.  _ He’s glad they’re sitting down. His legs would have definitely given out on him by now.  _ Simon is occupied with shifting into a comfortable position, pressing his face into the crook of Baz’s neck and occasionally pressing featherlight kisses to his shoulder or to suck a barely visible bruise into his skin. If Simon had noticed Baz’s seeming inability to show any blatantly visible signs of bruising, he hasn’t commented on it. Or maybe he prefers it that way.  _ Crowley, his brain needs to shut up. Immediately.  _

“Do you remember the day we met?”

“Of course I do, Baz,” Simon smiles against his neck, “First meal of the school year. You briefly insulted me for the sheer volume of sour cherry scones on my plate, and that’s the first time I ever told someone to fuck off.” 

“It shouldn’t be possible for someone that age to eat twelve sour cherry scones,” Baz huffs defensively before allowing a slow grin to spread across his face, “But regardless, Snow, you’re wrong. You-”

“You called me Simon before.”

“Fine, Simon. But actually, our first meeting wasn’t that day in the dining hall. I honestly don’t think you remember it. It was when we were walking in after the welcome speech, and Dev and Niall had abandoned me for whatever purpose, and I didn’t know anyone else. And I bumped shoulders with you in the rush to get to the food.” Baz laughs under his breath, “You were freakishly warm to the touch, even through Merlin knows you were probably wearing at least three jackets.”

Simon opens his mouth to protest, but Baz catches the words in a kiss before gesturing at him to let him continue. 

“I turned to look for who it was, but you were already off somewhere with Bunce and Wellbelove and whoever decided they wanted to follow the chosen one. But I didn’t see them, I saw you. You were all I saw, actually.” 

Simon throws an arm onto Baz’s torso, and traces over each of his ribs, humming softly in acknowledgement. The dark haired boy turns to press his lips to the corner of Simon’s lips before the words come spilling out of their own volition. 

“When I found out that I was supposed to be the villain of your story, I was thankful. I was thankful that I got to have a candle’s worth of your fire. I asked for the warmth of a flame, and the Crucible gave me you.” 

\----------

“Do you believe in alternate universes, Baz?”

“We live in a world of magic and dragons and spells from commercials. I think that’s enough to believe in.”

“But imagine.”

“How many universes is that? How many Simons in the universe?”

“Infinity. There’s infinite Simons and Bazs.”

“Well then,” Baz smiles indulgently, “What is Simon number 61 doing today?”

“Simon number 61 is a Normal. He lives in France, but visits Baz number 820 every weekend at his boarding school. They have been together for three years.”

“And Simon number 528?” Baz is no longer just humoring Simon, and is hanging on his every word. 

“Simon number 528 lives in Germany, but thinks it’s too cold, so he and Baz number 35 are going on vacation to Italy for three weeks. Baz 35 has no idea there’s a ring box in Simon 528’s suitcase.” 

“Are there Simons and Bazs that are married in the other universes?” Baz’s mouth is agape, and there’s a light in his eyes that threatens to overtake his normally calm expression.

“Of course,” Simon laughs, “There’s some that are married, and some that haven’t even met. There’s some that just met yesterday, and some that are together like we are now. But there’s some things different. The color of the curtains, maybe.”

“Bright red curtains that make the entire room glow red,” Baz adds. 

“And I thought you said that you already had enough to believe in,” Simon teases.

“Well, you always seem to find something else for me,” Baz murmurs, pressing his lips just under the curve of Simon’s jaw, but then his expression turns solemn, “Do you really believe there’s an us in every universe?” 

“Absolutely. It’s my executive decision as Simon number 1 that we’re together in every universe.”

“Well, I’ll have you know, Baz number 1 is very happy with this decision.” 

  
  



	6. Simon Doesn't Give A Fuck About Me

“Baz, you’re going to Agatha’s party right?” Penny approaches him out of nowhere, and, this being the library, it’s difficult to make a scene without upsetting the librarians. 

“I assumed so, Bunce. Why does it matter?”

“It matters to Simon, you dolt. Just make sure you go, alright?”

“Sure, Bunce. If that means you leave me alone now. I need to read.”

Penny frowns at the cover of his book,  _ Restraint _ , with nothing but a solid blood red velvet lining by means of cover art. Immediately, Baz shuts the book with a cold finality and gestures that it’s high time that she made her exit.

“I’ll see you later, Baz,” she calls over her shoulder, and he doesn’t answer.

\----------

Surprisingly enough, this party is relatively quiet. Just outside a set of gates by the lake, with lanterns magicked to fly overhead, but stay still, providing whatever ambience that Agatha intended. 

_ Where is Wellbelove anyway? This is her party. You’d think she’d be fluttering around and tending to her guests.  _

And yet, the blonde is nowhere to be seen. But Baz couldn’t care less. 

He approaches Penny, not necessarily out of a wish to socialize, but because he considers her the most tolerable out of Simon’s friends. In fact, he tolerates her enough to willingly converse with her. And considering the increasingly small size of his social circle, that was well on its way to being considered a compliment. 

“Hello, Basil,” Penny greets him, “You look flushed.” 

He sincerely hopes that the smell of the catacombs hasn’t seeped into his clothing. Crowley, imagine if Bunce figured out just how much time he spent down there. And for what purpose. Baz shakes his head briefly to clear it, and Penny graciously ignores it, placing a glass of some dark purple liquid into his hand. 

“One of the pixies offered it to me,” she mutters, “and the entire group laughed when I took it, and they would not stop asking me to drink in front of them as proof, and I figured they’d be less likely to harass you.”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to say about me, Bunce, but I’ll take it.” Baz unceremoniously pours the drink into the grass and neither of them are particularly surprised to see the grass grow springs for roots and turn lavender with every bounce the springs forced them to take. 

They frown at the prank and sigh exasperatedly in unison. Honestly, he and Bunce are more similar than he originally predicted. The two of them survey the crowd, Penny in search of some kind of non-pixie-trickery-related entertainment, and Baz in search of Simon. 

At last, a flash of bronze curls and a slight brightening of the lanterns alerts him to the chosen one’s arrival. Even without consciously thinking about it, his eyes follow Simon around the room as he awkwardly greets his many acquaintances, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.  _ Simon Snow in jeans is definitely a sight to see.  _ A smirk plays at his lips until Simon finally meets his eyes in the crowd, offering him a blinding grin in exchange. Of course it’s a trade he takes willingly. 

They stand there on opposite sides of the room grinning like fools at each other, and Baz is suddenly reminded of the party that had only been a few weeks ago. Memories of alcohol and flashing lights and  _ Simon _ flash through his head and continue to build until real life nudges its way in, and Baz watches as Wellbelove resurfaces from wherever she’s been hiding for the first time since he arrived. 

Immediately, she makes her way over to Simon and loops her arm through his, a gesture he had seen many times before when she and Simon were dating. It seems as if Simon is operating on muscle memory, because his arm immediately stiffens to accommodate her grip. And smiles at her. And allows her to pull him away towards the lake. 

Baz never appreciated spies, and now he’s about to pretend to be one. 

He follows them about fifty yards behind, and he doesn’t realize that he’s strayed so far from his original spot until he turns back and finds himself on the edge of the meticulously arranged lantern area. Baz tries to force himself to look away when Simon and Agatha begin speaking.  _ This is private. He shouldn’t be here.  _ He repeats the words to himself over and over until his feet begin to carry him back to the party. That is, until he hears his name. 

“What about him?” Simon’s voice is defensive and his volume is rising. 

“You can’t disagree that he’s dangerous. He’s your arch-nemesis for Merlin’s sake! How do you know he won’t kill you in your sleep? We both know he’s threatened to do it before.”

“And yet he hasn’t done it.”

“Yet.”

“Agatha, you can’t really believe that he’d kill me.”

“Simon, I’m worried about you. I think you got a little taste of adventure chasing the humdrum and thought you’d take on another in the form of Baz,” she frowns, bordering on a pout, and Baz comes to a terrifying realization. 

Whether she’s aware of it or not, Agatha knows exactly how to get in Simon’s head. And judging by the way she’s standing twirling her hair around her right index finger, she isn’t. She has absolutely no idea. 

Baz can’t step in, so he’s forced to watch as Agatha tries to get her boyfriend back and in doing so, completely destroys Simon and Baz’s relationship. 

“Look, I’m not saying this because I just want you two to break up and for both you to be unhappy. I want you to be happy, and I think that the way that it works out is that you end up with me, and either Baz tries to kill you and fails or you two fight until you destroy everything in your path. And I know it would kill you to have Baz turn on you like that after you trusted him.”

Crowley, she has no idea of her power. She’s pulling these arguments as if out of a hat, but every single one of them is effective and tugs at all of Simon’s doubts. And for fuck’s sake, she won’t stop twisting that stupid strand of hair. 

“Okay. I just wanted to tell you that now, and I don’t expect you to make a decision now. But I just wanted to let you know I’m here.” 

And then _ he  _ kisses  _ her.  _

\----------

_ Fuck. I should have known. He doesn’t care. Why was I so stupid? FUCK.  _

Baz is running, faster than he’d thought he was capable of, back towards the glowing lights of the party. He passes through the crowd like a tornado, pushing people aside and leveling a carefully practiced death glare at anyone who doesn’t move out of his way. 

“Basil?”

Bunce. 

“Basil? Basil. Baz? Where are you going?”

“Not now, Bunce.”

“Where were you? What happened?”

“Crowley, do you ever stop asking questions?”

“Not until I get answers,” she takes a hold of his wrist, tight enough to get the message across, but still loose enough where Baz has the option to twist out of her grip. 

He doesn’t, and instead allows her to hold on as he jogs towards the gates, much of his energy spent in the initial sprint. When they reach the wrought iron entrance, he stares up at them for a moment. 

“Why did you ask me to come to the party?” his voice sounds so much smaller than he intended. 

“Because I thought that you and Simon would have a good time together. I think I’m the only one who’s noticed how gone you are for him, and how he’s finally pulled his head out of his arse and realized that he feels the same way.”

“No he doesn’t”

“What do you mean, Baz? I thought you two had cleared this up.”

“Apparently not,” his tone turns mocking and sickeningly sweet. 

“What happened.” Not a question. 

“Ask the golden boy yourself,” Baz hisses, “and maybe ask his girlfriend too.”

For the first time, Penny is completely out of things to say. 

“No- no he didn’t- he cares about you too much-”

He cuts her off by landing his first punch on the iron gate, and he pays no attention to the pain in his hands. There’s not enough blood to bleed properly anyway. He’s just going to bruise. Baz looses a pained shout from his chest and lands another hit. And another. And another. And another. And another. He plans to beat his hands purple until Penny pulls him away in combination with some spell that he didn’t hear.

“No, Basil. You will not hurt yourself like this. I refuse to let you damage your spellcasting career for the rest of your life because of one night.  **_Get Well Soon._ ** ” 

The wounds close and the bruising visibly lessens. But Penny doesn’t stop with just the spell, and resolutely walks him to the boys dorms. 

“You’ll want to get some rest, Baz. Maybe it’s best if you’re asleep before Simon gets back.”

“Oh,” he laughs darkly, “He won’t care.” His eyes are wide and suspiciously shiny, but he turns away before saying one last thing, “Thank you, Bunce, but Simon doesn’t give a fuck about me.” 

  
  



	7. It Doesn't Matter

It’s miserably difficult to avoid someone you share a room with, and Simon’s persistence is a testament to that. Baz is back to sharing a room with an open fire, but this time, every spark threatens to catch and set him ablaze. After the moment of warmth, Baz aches to throw himself into the flames. 

There’s a method to the madness that is avoiding Simon Snow. Pretend to be asleep when he comes in at night. Wake up first and leave before he even begins to stir. At mealtimes, stare past him or don’t even look near him in the first place. Most importantly, forget forget forget. 

Simon isn’t helping matters. His blue eyes follow Baz everywhere, and he can’t scrub the intensity of his gaze from his skin, no matter how often he turns away. 

Every time a bird flies in his direction, Baz’s steps stutter and his breath catches in his throat, and he half expects one to hover in front of him and deliver one of those stupidly generic sappy messages that Agatha seems to be receiving.  _ Snow seems to be more attentive nowadays. Agatha’s overtaken him entirely.  _

Wellbelove seems to have that effect on people. 

“Baz.”

_ No. No. No.  _ Simon  _ fucking _ Snow is  _ not _ sitting next to him. He’s not  _ talking _ to him. He’s not  _ looking _ at him. He’s not doing so much as  _ acknowledging _ his existence.  _ If only wishing something could make it true.  _

“Baz?” Baz’s name sounds like a question on Simon’s lips, and something inside him twists when he realises that for the first time, he’s not a constant in Simon’s life. 

“What do you want, Snow?” say what you want about Baz, but his ability to sound annoyed should be considered a superpower. 

“So, blueberry scones?” Simon ignores the question entirely, “Normally I get the sour cherry ones, but they didn’t have any, so I had trouble deciding between those,” he gestures towards Baz’s mindlessly filled plate, “and the cranberry ones.”

“That’s nice,” his eyes lift from his plate for the first time, and look up into Simon’s,  _ Crowley, he’s so oblivious,  _ “but sometimes you just have to choose.”

\----------

Baz throws himself into his work, and he considers it one of his more… productive coping mechanisms. 

That still doesn’t explain how exactly he managed to get lost in the middle of the library. 

Dev and Niall were probably somewhere doing Crowley knows what in the more secluded areas.  _ You show up to the school year late and they become obsessed with each other.  _ Frankly, Baz’s is happy for them. It’s high time they got their shit together, and his friends deserve to be happy. Whether or not Baz longs for the kind of relationship they have is completely irrelevant. 

But he really should figure out where he is. 

Running his fingers over the spines of the books, he skims the titles, and it’s increasingly apparent that by some stroke of horrible luck, he’s completely lost in the romance section.  _ Well, isn’t that ironic.  _

Without thinking, Baz opens one of them and instantly cringes at the material inside. Closing the book with a slightly traumatized finality, he briefly wonders what possessed the librarians to allow such content to be within reach of the young impressionable first years. He places the book back onto the shelf using only his fingertips in an effort to keep as little of the cover from touching him as possible. Baz immediately tries to collect himself and speed walks out of the section, and immediately knocks over Penelope Bunce. 

“Basil!” Penny coughs, collecting her alarmingly large stack of books from the floor. 

“Apologies, Bunce.”  _ Fucking hell, what century is he from? _

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m in the library, what do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know but I know what you’re going to be doing.”

“Do tell.”

“You’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on between you and Simon, because the boy has been moping in his room the instant Agatha detaches from his side, and something tells me it has something to do with you and whatever happened the night of the party by the lake.”

“Are you always this perceptive or were you saving all of it specifically to torture me?”

“Let’s go with the first one. Come on, Basil.”

With a surprisingly tight grip on his wrist (especially considering the heavy stack of books that she’s lugging around in her other arm), she tugs him towards one of the soundproofed study rooms that are clustered around the entrance to the library. Penny gestures for him to tug the door open with his free arm, and he rolls his eyes before doing so. She takes a moment to get herself situated, placing her books carefully on the corner of the desk and seating Baz across from her across the table. 

“Well, go on, start from the beginning.”

“I hope I don’t have to tell you how babies are made.” 

“Merlin, Basil, you get what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I do.”

They sit in silence, with mirrored expressions of unimpressed disbelief, until Baz finally breaks. 

“I don’t see why I’m the one who needs an intervention. Why aren’t you interrogating Snow?”

“You called him Simon.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I didn’t mean today, I meant the night of the party.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because it means you care about him.”

“Calling someone by their first name doesn’t mean I care about them.”

“Fair enough, but the only other people you call by their first name are Dev and Niall, and they’re your closest friends. I think that makes a pretty good case for my argument.” 

“I-” any protests evaporate from his constant stream of excuses, and the word devolves into a sigh. He winds his hands into his hair and clenches strands on and off in his fists.

“Baz-”

“What do you want me to say? What do you want to hear?” he sounds exhausted, and Penny is well aware of it. 

“I just want to know the truth. I want you two to be happy-” Baz opens his mouth as if to argue “-yes, both of you. You’re good for each other. And I know Simon’s good for you, as much as you hate to admit it.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It does. I promise. Go find him, and just talk to him. Do you want to be like this” she gestures vaguely at his disheveled state, “forever? There’s no harm that can come out of talking this out.”

“I highly doubt-”

“No. harm.”

Baz looks up at Penny, and her expression is heavy with words that he can’t read nor understand. 

\----------

“Where are you?” Simon’s voice echoes through their cluttered room, voice amplified through the bird that he’d cast the messaging spell through.

Dev and Niall turn from where they’re seated on the floor with identical raised eyebrows at Baz. 

“What?”

Their eyebrows rise exponentially higher.

“ _ What? _ ”

At this, the two of them trade looks of exasperation, and Niall sighs as Dev rests his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes and shaking his head at Baz. 

“Well…” Baz sputters, “What do I say? Do I tell him I’m here doing homework?”

“Knowing you, it’ll turn into insulting him about how he never keeps up with his homework and how his idiocy stems from that,” deadpans Dev, and Niall hums in agreement. 

“Well… shit…” Baz fumbles for his wand, “ **_A little bird told me._ ** ” a small blue bird appears to take his message, “ _ I’m in our dorm, doing homework. _ ” he tries his best to sound as nonchalant as possible, because, well, how else do you react when the boy you’re in love with contacts you out of nowhere?  _ Jumping out the window into his arms, though romantic, is not necessarily the best choice.  _

Almost immediately, the message gets a reply.

“On my way.” 

As if on cue, Dev and Niall rise from their place on the floor and turn for the door.

“Where are you-”

“We’re leaving the two of you alone,” Niall says simply, “Good luck.” 

Their laughter echoes with their footsteps as they run out of the tower, and Baz is left to collect himself.  _ Deep breaths. Calm down. Bunce said no harm would come from this, and she’s probably one of the few people competent enough to believe. Ignore how unexpected it is that Simon approached first. No- Snow approached first.  _

“Hey,” Simon breathes from the doorway, hand still on the doorknob as if he’s expecting Baz to send him away and slam the door in his face.  _ As if he could ever.  _

Baz nods silently in his direction and gathers a few papers from where they’re scattered all over the rug. 

“ **_Up up and away_ ** ” Simon casts softly, even his whisper carrying the weight of magic, and he watches, smiling gently, as a few of the papers rise off the ground and float in Baz’s direction. 

“Thank you.” Baz murmurs, stacking the supplies meticulously onto his bedside table. A fragile pause falls over them, but Baz breaks it carefully, “You looked happy, the other day. With Wellbel-Agatha. It’s nice that you two are-” he searches for the right word, “-talking again.” 

“Don’t.”

The pain in the single word is enough for Baz to tear himself away from the organization he was distracting himself with. 

“Don’t what?” 

“You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Baz repeats slowly, remembering how he’d echoed the same words when he’d had that conversation with Bunce in the library. 

“No,” Simon shakes his head, as if for emphasis, and he takes a deep breath before letting his next thought go, “Ever since I met you, you’re the only one that matters.” 

Baz hears the words, and slowly but surely, he begins to burn. 

_ It’s nothing. It’s everything. It’s too much. It’s not enough. And yet… say it again. Say it again. Say it again. No. No. No. This can’t be happening. It’s too good for me. No. No. No. No harm. No foul. Say it again. Say it again.  _

But none of those words can leave him.

“ **_Helter skelter._ ** ” he casts, and the entire room goes to hell. 

There’s paper flying everywhere, objects are thrown from the shelves, out of the bathroom, out of drawers, shoes and shirts and socks all pour out of the dresser, and, in the eye of the hurricane, they stand, facing each other, and somehow the wind pushes them to each other. 

They crash together and Baz feels as if he’s wrapped in a column of fire. Simon’s hands are everywhere, in his hair, reaching over his back, twisted in the hem of his shirt. Baz has succumbed to the flames, and his last coherent thought has him giving in to the heat of Simon’s mouth. 

  
  



	8. But I Do Want Something Serious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the scene I'm basing this chapter is only two minutes long, this chapter is shorter than the others, so I'm sorry about that! (Especially since I've been awful about posting new chapters) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

It’s a strange thing to wake up in a wreckage of your own making. And it’s equally so (but far more enjoyable) to find someone as gorgeous as Simon Snow tucked into your side. 

However, Baz isn’t one to starve in the name of love, and he carefully extricates himself from Simon’s grip and heads toward the catacombs, but not before pausing in the doorway to just take him in. 

Simon is a true nightmare in his sleep. Drooling, mouth wide open, and snoring as loud as a steam engine. The most aggravatingly beautiful nightmare Baz has ever seen.

A growl and a twisting feeling in his stomach makes him remember why he even bothered getting up in the first place. 

_ It’ll only be a minute,  _ he reminds himself,  _ and then you’ll be back. There’s no need to be obsessing over this.  _

_ To be fair, he’s disturbed. Ask anyone.  _

With one last glance back at Simon, he sprints down the hall and toward the stairs into the catacombs. 

\----------

On the way back up, he stops by the kitchens, filling plates with everything he can find, but making sure to get a separate platter for the sour cherry scones. 

_ Simon Snow and his bloody sour cherry scones.  _

He somehow manages to get the door open with all the food in his hands, only to find the room empty. 

A thousand thoughts come to him at once. 

_ Where is he? Did he leave? We didn’t run into each other so he must have left pretty soon after I did. Does he plan on coming back? Is… is he with Agatha? _

_ Baz, you idiot, get it together. You’ve been prepared to ignore him for the rest of your life since the moment you met him. Why are you disappointed? Why are you surprised? For fucks sake, you need to stop doing this to yourself. Just get over-  _

The door slams open and Baz practically jumps six feet into the air. 

“Bloody hell, what-“ 

Simon Snow is standing in the doorway with two mugs in his hands that smell… interesting… but enough like coffee that Baz will risk being poisoned for caffeine. 

“Surprise?”

There seems to be a pattern of Baz being at a loss for words around Simon, and this is certainly no exception. 

“Baz?”

“I-“

_ He didn’t expect Simon to come back. And now he’s here, a fucking paragon of domestic bliss, and Baz can’t process it.  _

As expected, Simon tries his best to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t know the recipe for your pumpkin mocha breves were, so I kind of just… threw a bunch of ingredients in. There’s some cinnamon, for sure, and I probably dropped about half a crumbled pumpkin scone inside it. And some of that hazelnut creamer. Contrasting flavors, right?” He laughs slightly and then winces, sniffing at the mugs and wrinkling his nose. 

“I thought you left.”

The statement hangs in the air for a moment, Baez’s volume barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to repeat himself. He knows from the way Simon’s lips twist in confusion.

“Well, obviously I didn’t. I’m right here.” 

_ Crowley. _

“I thought you left… like you did with Wellbelove.” 

“Why would I do that? I’m not dating her anymore.”

“Stop.”

The word wrenches itself out of him.

“What?”

“The last time you two were  _ broken up _ you- I saw- you kissed her. Remember? At the party by the lake.” 

Simon’s lips part as he exhales (mouth breather), and he slowly walks over to where Baz is sitting on his bed. He places the two mugs into Baz’s tray on the nightstand with a dull  _ clink _ and stops right in front of him, reaching forward tentatively to place his hands on Baz’s shoulders and stand comfortably between his knees. 

“Agatha… she’s known me for just as long as you have. At this point, she knows me so well that yeah, she convinced me for a second that we had to get back together. And… I still wasn’t completely sure about what was happening with us. We never talked about it,” Simon flushes red to the tips of his ears at the memory, “and neither of us seemed ready. I just thought… I don’t know… maybe you didn’t want something serious.” 

Baz tilts his head up to stare open-mouthed at him, arms hanging down over the edge of the bed. Simon only gives him a shy, thin-lipped smile in exchange. 

“But I  _ do _ want something serious.” 

A grin breaks through Simon’s somber expression, and he cradles Baz’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut. A sigh echoes through the room and Baz tries to find the source before realizing it was both of them, exhaling in tandem. 

“Good,” Simon mumbles, “Because I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Yeah?” Baz says, tilting his head even farther back to press their noses together. 

“Mhm,” Simon hums, and closes the gap between them. 

  
  



	9. This Will End In Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACK I just realized it's been almost a month since I updated! I'm so sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy this chapter! ;)

Simon never thought he’d be this happy. Especially with someone who is supposed to be his arch-nemesis. His  _ boyfriend _ . 

The word still sounds foreign on his tongue, but he’s found that he likes it very much. 

And he can’t help the contagious excitement that completely takes over him when Baz tells him that he’s prepared a surprise. 

Preparing for a surprise sounds contradictory to him until it hits him that Baz planned something special for  _ him.  _

He voices the thought out loud, and Baz grins brightly at him, shaking his head fondly before grabbing hold of his wrist and tugging him out of their room. 

“Where are we going, Baz?” 

“You’ll see!” 

They both nearly trip on the way down the stairs, but manage to get all the way down in one piece. Their steps echo through the silent hallways, and even in the dark, Simon can see Baz grinning as they race by the classrooms that are locked and closed until the next morning. The dark-haired boy even laughs aloud as they pass the Mage’s tower, and the sound warms Simon through, and he grips Baz’s hand tighter as they burst through the double doors, out the gate, and sprint across the field towards the lake. 

At last, Baz slows to a screeching halt, hiding the view of the lake by pulling Simon behind a tree. 

“Baz, what’s going on?” Simon asks chest heaving, still trying to catch his breath.

“Close your eyes?” 

“You’re positive this isn’t your elaborate attempt to beat me?”

Baz pauses, and tilts his head in question.

“You know, you’re my arch-nemesis and all that,” Simon explains good-naturedly. 

“Is that still all you see me as?” Baz honestly looks crushed, and immediately Simon fumbles to explain himself.

“No, darling, of course not, I’m just joking.” To prove his words, Simon resolutely covers his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

To his delight, Baz nearly giggles at his action and moves to stand behind him, covering Simon’s hands with his own. He slowly walks forward, leading Simon to what he thinks is the lake, though honestly, for all he knows, Baz could be walking him straight into a wall. 

Luckily for him, they don’t bump into a single thing, but Simon nearly trips over something that feels like a step.

“Sorry,” Baz laughs, pressing closer behind Simon in an effort to guide him better, “Here, there’s a few steps. I’ll count them.”

“Ok…” Simon agrees distractedly, mostly due to the proximity of Baz’s body to his. 

“One…”  _ Step.  _ “Two…”  _ Step. _ “Three…” _ Step.  _ “Four…” _ Step.  _ “Five…”  _ Step.  _ “Six…” _ Step.  _ “Seven…” 

Simon stumbles as he lifts his foot to step on open air. 

“Sorry,” says Baz, sounding the exact opposite.

“There wasn’t a seventh step, was there?”

“There wasn’t a seventh step,” Baz confirms. 

“Can I open my eyes now?”

“One second....” Baz hums, “Ok…. now.”

Simon opens his eyes, and his jaw drops to the floor. 

They’re standing on the upper deck of some kind of houseboat, and there are lanterns floating in the air, just like in the Normals movie that Agatha made him watch in second year… What was it? It doesn’t really matter, because Baz is standing in front of him, tugging on the hem of his shirt and biting his lip, as if he’s considering the possibility that it’s too much. 

“Baz… you did this? How?” 

Baz only nods, ignoring his second question, and continues watching for any signs of displeasure from him.  _ Well,  _ Simon thinks,  _ the jokes on him. He won’t be finding any.  _

“I love this! And you did this for me? This is wonderful.  _ You’re _ wonderful, darling.” 

Baz’s bitten lip gives way to a giddy smile before he steps forward to take Simon’s face in his hands and kiss him full on the mouth. By the time he pulls away, Simon is weak-kneed and pulling him back in, but Baz steps back after indulging him a few times. 

“THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND, ISN’T HE HOT,” Baz yells, leaning over the railing.

Simon reflexively slaps a hand over Baz’s mouth and shushes him, all the while bubbling over with laughter.

“There’s more!” 

Baz gestures towards the door to the lower level of the houseboat, and with an exchanged look, the two of them race down the stairs.  

\----------

“How the ever-loving fuck did you manage to get  _ this _ many scones out here?”

“Cook’s a friend of the family, and I just levitated the plates.” 

“Even still,” Simon grins up at him, “No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

“Well, I’m lucky to be the first.” 

Baz reaches over and pours more sparkling cider into Simon’s glass. He’d explained to Simon earlier that he’d wanted to get champagne, but something about how it’s impossible to get alcohol on Watford grounds stopped him. Regardless, Simon would rather not be drunk tonight, and would love to remember all of this in excruciating detail. 

“Hmmm,” Baz hums as he takes another sip of his drink, “Maybe we should go explore.”

“Where would we go? The boat’s only so big.”

“Well,” Baz drawls, taking Simon’s hand and leading him out of the room, “We could explore and do other things.” 

“Other things?”

Suddenly, Baz throws open a door and pulls Simon in with him, pinning him to the wall by his wrists and pressing his lips to Simon’s pulse point. 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

\----------

Simon’s eyes flutter open when the mattress shifts underneath him. 

“Baz?”

The dark-haired boy is sitting in a chair across the room, hands over his mouth, staring blankly at the wall for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a breath through his teeth. 

“Baz,” Simon repeats, and props himself up on his forearms. 

“Yes, love?”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“How am I supposed to sleep with someone this gorgeous in my bed?”

The words work their desired effect, but Simon can’t help but notice how tense Baz sounds, and how all his muscles are strained to the point where his fingers are shaking where they’re pressed over his lips. 

“Just go back to sleep, Simon, I’m right here.” 

He can’t think of any reason not to.

\----------

This time, it’s the creak of a door hinge. 

Simon mumbles, still drowsy, and he squints in the dim light of the bedroom as his eyes attempt to bring the world into focus. 

“What are you doing?”

Baz is standing at the foot of the bed, buttoning his jacket, and otherwise fully dressed. A few buttons are off, and he looks slightly messier than usual, but Simon dismisses it easily. After all, it’s early… or is it late? It’s still dark outside. 

“I’m going for a swim,” Baz says.

Simon only nods and closes his eyes once more, chasing the dreams that had momentarily left him. 

It isn’t until about thirty seconds later that he realizes he never heard a splash. And Baz still had all his clothes on. 

He pulls on his pants and shirt and sprints for the deck, but he’s too late. 

Simon is alone on the boat, with no one else in sight. 

“Baz? BAZ!”

The lights are blurring together and he runs back below deck to fumble for his wand and cast a spell. 

“ **_A little bird told me_ ** . AGATHA. PENNY. Baz is  _ gone _ .” 


	10. You're Just A Fucking Whim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this has been a recurring theme, and I'm so sorry that my updates have become monthly instead of weekly as I was originally hoping for! But until I can get everything with school and everything else under control, I think I can set my update schedule as an official monthly thing. (Hey, it's better than nothing, right? It really isn't, but it's the best I can do.) 
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me, and I hope y'all enjoy this chapter!

“You can’t just throw information like that out and expect us to do nothing about it!” 

“What are you on about, Agatha? I just wanted a second opinion. Though  _ honestly, _ ” Penny presses her lips together in frustration, “I’m starting to regret it by the way you’re reacting.” 

“Are you kidding me? You’re telling us that you think Baz is a  _ vampire _ and you expect us to just sit here and wait for him to drain all our blood?”

“Have you been listening to  _ anything _ I just said? He’s not dangerous. In fact, considering his circumstances, I think he’s in an incredible amount of control. Especially since no one has picked up on it before us, as far as I know.” 

“Before  _ you _ , you mean,” Dev corrects her, “We had no idea. It just seemed like a classic Baz to vanish every now and again.”

“We assumed that he just went off to brood and plot against Snow,” Niall adds, “You know, like he’s supposed to.” 

Penny sighs exasperatedly and gestures once again towards the board she’s drawn up. There’s a neat list of every piece of evidence she’s managed to find, all compiled into one single conclusion. The highlights include  _ sneaking down to the catacombs, reading a book about vampire restraint,  _ and  _ never eating in front of anyone.  _

_ Enough information to force Baz into darkness forever.  _

“Don’t you get it? This is something that could completely change the way Simon’s story goes. I wonder if the mage knows,” Penny muses, placing a hand pensively on her chin.

“We should tell him,” Agatha cuts in, “For everyone’s safety. The vampires attacked Watford once, Penny. And they killed Headmistress Grimm-Pitch. And you want us to watch and just let them come back? And even kill the Mage? Then what? Will you just let the problem go unfixed and have Simon dead?” 

“For fuck’s sake, Agatha, stop twisting what I’m saying! Simon is my best friend. I would NEVER. EVER. wish anything bad on him. But we can’t jump to conclusions before gathering more information. Give me a week, or maybe a little more than that. I’ll figure something out before we rush off and tell the world.” 

Agatha opens her mouth as if to argue, but instead, she ducks low to the ground as a bird swoops in through the window, narrowly missing a few strands of her hair. The room’s heavy composure breaks as Penny tries to shoo the bird out of the room. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem interested in leaving, and stubbornly perches on top of Penny’s board. 

Penny makes one last grab for it, but shrinks back when the bird speaks. 

“ **AGATHA. PENNY.** **_Baz is gone._ ** ”

Agatha only shoots Penny an  _ I-told-you-so _ look before grabbing her coat and sprinting for the door, casting a spell as she left. 

“AGATHA, WAIT,” Penny yells after her, but it’s too late. Agatha is too far away to hear. 

\----------

As soon as he hears footsteps, Simon stands and leans over the railing, scanning for anyone that could be nearby. 

“Simon?” 

“AGATHA.” 

Simon turns and finds Agatha standing, her blond hair floating in the wind, and a frantic look on her face. 

“Simon, what happened?”

“I- Baz- he.”

“Spit it out, Simon, we need to figure out where he went.” 

“I’m trying,” he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath, “I- He invited me out here, and he surprised me, and we- we ended up falling asleep here, and I wake up and he’s sitting at the foot of the bed, and then I go back to sleep, but then I wake up and he tells me he’s going swimming, but he has all his clothes on and I never heard a splash and I don’t know what’s going on-” Simon’s voice is rising to a frantic pitch and he’s pacing up and down the deck of the boat. 

“Listen, Simon, I need you to understand me. I sent a bird to Penny on the way here to tell her, Dev, and Niall to go looking for him, but we need to be prepared to tell the Mage.”

“What? Why would we tell the Mage? What-”

“Tell me, how much power do you think Baz used up conjuring this?”

“He conjured this? I thought-”

“That he’d found it? Simon, we don’t keep boats on the lake. He must have absolutely exhausted himself making this. Which means he’d need to feed pretty soon afterwards.”

“ **_Agatha, we found him. Dev and Niall brought him to their room.”_ **

“Good. I’m glad they brought him back.” Agatha’s mouth is pressed into a grim line. 

“Feed?” Simon’s voice is shaky from the revelation of Agatha’s words. 

“ _ Simon, don’t you get it? _ Baz is a vampire. A bloodsucking, evil vampire like the ones that killed his mother and attacked Watford all those years ago. Did you really think he was in love with you? He CAN’T, Simon. Monsters like that can’t love people the way a normal person can. It’s something in his head.” 

“I-”

“Stop being so  _ naive _ . You need to understand. He can’t love you. It’s always been a plot. You’re some kind of fantasy to him, Simon. You’re just a fucking whim.” 

  
  



	11. You're Not Alone Anymore

_ You’re just a fucking whim. Just a fucking whim. A fucking whim. Fucking whim. Whim.  _

_ Whim. Whim. Whim.  _

Simon repeats the word over and over in his head, until the word doesn’t sound like anything other than a foreign combination of sounds. Even still, a spike of pain accompanies it every time. 

After all these years of being called paranoid, the knowledge that he’s been right all along should be a triumphant moment for him. 

_ Then why isn’t he happy? _

He already knows the answer. 

\----------

Simon’s never been one to avoid conflict. He’s the chosen one, for fuck’s sake. It’s practically his destiny to fight bravely and face his problems head-on. 

This is one challenge that he hadn’t anticipated. 

Luckily for him, Baz seems to be one step ahead of him as usual, avoiding his eyes when they pass in the hallways and eating on the other side of the lunch hall. The only time they’re in the same space is when they sleep, and Simon keeps his eyes on the wall and his heart trapped in his chest. 

\----------

“Here, Simon,” the Mage says kindly, gesturing to the open door of his study, “Take all the time you need. Feel free to stop by anytime.” 

Simon opens his mouth to thank him, but taller man keeps talking, walking slow circles around the room. 

“You know, it’s good to have a magician as talented as you here to study under such a prestigious school,” he pauses and adjusts his sleeve before handing Simon a book, “I’m glad to have you here, for the greater good of Watford, of course.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Anytime, Simon. Please enjoy.” 

With that, the door closes behind him, and with one last click of the latch, Simon is alone. If he’s completely honest, he doesn’t care much for the books in the Mage’s tower, not when too many of them are filled with spells he can’t execute or preachings about destiny and the importance of vanquishing the enemy. But if he’s going to use his supposed favoritism for something, he’ll take his chances at finding a quiet space to think. 

Slowly, he backs into a wall and slides to the floor, still holding the book loosely in his hands. The words on the pages blur together, but he stares at them as if they’ll form themselves into the answer he wants. At least, if he can figure out what he wants. 

“Snow. Simon,” Baz’s voice sounds, and Simon nearly sobs with recognition, that is, until he notices a cardinal perched on the Mage’s desk.  _ Ah, a spell.  _  “I’m sitting in the place where you told me to hold my breath. And thinking about you. I’m probably about to be dragged back to you for curfew, but I want to tell you everything. I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a vampire. I’m sorry for scaring you. For hurting you. I was scared to lose you, but then I remembered that isn’t possible. Maybe we’re not all alone, but the villain always is. And I have to play my part, don’t I? In some other universe I’m sure we get our happy ending… But in this one, go find yours, alright?”

“Si?”

Another voice, lilting and high, sounds from directly in front of him, and Simon jumps. 

“Yes?” he responds hoarsely, until he realizes that the cardinal has disappeared into thin air and a delicate bluebird is in its place. 

“Si, I don’t know where you are or if you’ll get this, but we couldn’t think of anyone else to ask. Dev and Niall can’t find Baz. They haven’t seen him for hours. And we checked everywhere we could think of, and we even took a look in the catacombs, but it was too dark to tell, and we thought you’d be the most likely to know. Please, Simon.” 

It’s too much. Too many memories are coming back.

_ Baz, watching him go off in a column of smoke and burn a hole in their ceiling. _

_ Baz, a smile tugging at his lips just behind Agatha’s shoulder.  _

_ Baz’s fingers brushing over his waist in the courtyard.  _

_ Baz, stretching languidly on the boat and laughing until Simon tugs him closer.  _

He doesn’t know his long his feet have been moving before he reaches the doors of the catacombs, the burning end of a broken torch in his shaking hand. 

“Baz?”

He mindlessly sprints for the statue of Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the torch threatening to go out with every breath. 

“BAZ.” 

A sound. A sob so quiet that Simon could have imagined it.

“Don’t find me.  _ Please _ .” 

A boy. A boy with long hair so dark it nearly hides him in the shadows. With a heaving chest and red lips and eyes. 

It’s too late to take his request. Simon has found him, and he’s not letting him go again.

“No.”

He crouches down and takes Baz’s face in his hands, running his fingertips over his cheekbones and pressing their foreheads together. 

“I can’t be near you, Simon. It’s too dangerous. We can’t do this. I can’t do this.” 

“You’re not alone, alright?” Simon interrupts him, and Baz’s eyes fly open wide, “You hear me? You’re not alone anymore.” 

  
  



	12. I Don't Need You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACK it's been so long since I last updated!! I'm so sorry for the wait, midterms and everything more or less consumed me for the last month or so, but I'm so glad to be back! This chapter is on the short side, but don't worry, the next one is an important one! (Any Skam fans have any guesses?) Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! :)

Before Simon leaves for class the next morning, he adjusts Baz’s sheets, tucking the edges lightly under his shoulders and brushing his lips over the dark haired boy’s forehead before throwing his bag over his shoulder. 

He stares raptly for Merlin knows how long before he tears himself away, scribbling a note to Baz explaining his absence. 

Baz stirs for a moment and Simon freezes in the door frame, but Baz doesn’t wake and Simon only steals one more glance at him before letting the door click shut behind him.

\----------

Simon can’t resist checking in on him. 

He doesn't consider the effect on his schedule until he’s standing outside their door again during lunch, hand hovering over the doorknob. Simon takes a deep breath, places a smile on his face, and pushes the door open to find Baz propped up on a few pillows, half asleep, cheeks rosy, and about halfway through a thick book. 

“Hey.”

Baz looks up, and  _ Merlin _ , he looks stunned by Simon’s presence, but so much happier than he had the night before. 

“Hey.” 

Simon crosses the room and plops himself onto the mattress. 

“You feeling better?”

“Yeah, I fed a little while after you left.”

“Did you get my note?”

“Yes,” a slightly aggravated tone slowly bleeds into Baz’s voice. 

“Did you eat?”

“Yes,” _ oh _ , Baz is unmistakably annoyed.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“For fuck’s SAKE, Snow,” Baz hisses, “Stop treating me like a child. I’ve been a vampire for almost my entire life, and I sure as hell don’t need you to babysit me. I don’t know why you came back to baby me but get this through your head. I don’t need you. I don’t. Go back to class, and do something worthwhile.” 

“Okay.”

Simon rises from the bed, and barely keeps himself from tucking the sheets around Baz. Instead, he settles for a featherlight kiss on the cheek and makes his way towards the door. 

_ He’s right,  _ Simon thinks.  _ You can’t treat him like he can’t take care of himself. He’s done it for so long, and until recently you’ve done nothing for him.  _

Baz’s words hurt, but Simon still glances back at him before he leaves. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Baz’s stone-faced expression cracked the moment he turned to go. 

  
  



End file.
